


Parasitic Symbiosis

by Elekrii



Series: First Draft No-Edit PIKFICS [1]
Category: Pikmin (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Breakfast, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Internal Monologue, Last line sort of vague if you vibe IDK, Louie And Olimar Aren't Buddy-Buddy YET, Louie Isn't Stupid, No Beta We Die Like Rushed College Students, Olimar is a Sad Dad tm, Oneshot, Platonic Relationships, Stream of Consciousness, Team Dynamics, Tension, Unedited fic, first draft, second fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:29:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elekrii/pseuds/Elekrii
Summary: "He wrote with a feverish, ritualistic desperation, every night, like he'd lose his folk if he didn't.It probably was that way. It probably had been, and he'd probably failed, once, too."------Louie's analysis on the father, Captain, and lost soul, Olimar--over breakfast.
Relationships: Louie & Louie's Grandma (Pikmin), Louie & Olimar (Pikmin), Olimar & Olimar's Family, Olimar/Olimar's Wife (Pikmin)
Series: First Draft No-Edit PIKFICS [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941976
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Parasitic Symbiosis

**Author's Note:**

> Second fic, again unedited! I'm hosting a novella RP / Community Pikmin Discord sever. . . Comment for the link, I suppose? I had fun with this one.
> 
> (Okay, I'm already editing a typo. Sue me.)

"Louie, you've ought to write home."

And then, a pregnant pause.

The fifth time that the Captain had persuaded his fellow. Louie had every reason to avoid doing so, but Olimar was both a father and a survivor. No matter how enamored he was, he was just as antsy--And, again, a father.

"I will."  
A lie, really.

It left the glutton with a strange, bittersweet guilt, comparable to that of watching a man of truly old age, alone in a house that denied the modern day. Louie had his reasons, though. He did. He was a liar, and a fraud, and wasn't quite sure that he wanted any more bugs in a jar when he was too busied exploring his very real culinary capabilities. He was free from home, just like the Captain was free from. . . Something. Louie could see it; he wasn’t a young boy. All the distractions and new friends kept Olimar from tearing his mind apart at the seams. 

Olimar wrote home, though. They weren't the same. 

". . . How come, Lou'?" Came the reply, omniscient.

He wrote with a feverish, ritualistic desperation, every night, like he'd lose his folk if he didn't.  
It probably was that way. It probably had been, and he'd probably failed, once, too.  
Louie saw the way Olimar's relief shattered like a sugarcube, when the pair realized that he was heading back. The President hadn't said something. The President was as just as much a fraud as the chef, yet he waved it about flamboyantly, just as he did so with his ego. Louie suspected that the man had no idea what he was doing, or, at least, lacked the biological possibility to recognize his own fault. . . Ah, well, there was another reason that they were both having a gay old time, here. Escape. Sort of.

". . ." Louie very much said, quite loudly, furrowing his brows and hiding his teeth.

Olimar heaved a sigh, too old for somebody his admittedly weathered age--Too old for his lively demeanor, perhaps--And set his can of carrots and juice down. It made an uncomfortably wet noise, as it sloshed and clinked throughout the hum of an empty morning. Another good morning, then, gentle and vivid with the life of something similar to home, if not homelier--Two shipmates, but in space.  
(That last part was a lame comparison. Louie wasn't a writer like Olimar was.)

"I'll not bother you about it," The Captain finally declared, a needlepoint of solemn disdain poking through the thick cloth of his always, always lax, social face. 

And he stood.

And Louie said nothing.

And then he left the ship, helmet on. . .

And Louie only watched, slowly guiding a spoonful of his own breakfast to his mouth, over his hand, as soulless as he was intrigued. 

He liked to watch the man, and the way that his tension melted away like butter, when he was surrounded by the Pikmin. Olimar put a rather large amount of trust in them. He put the majority of his social abilities into them, treating them as of the same sentience. He worked flawlessly with the foreign world around him--It was concerning, to a point, the extent of his wordless communication with the chattering carrot people. Had Louie known anything, he'd know that the Captain had had his mind stolen away, nurturing the seeds of a strangely symbiotic parasite race.

Or, well. . .

It could have just been love, deep and natural. Something Olimar deserved to have, when he'd always faced the eyes of the greedy--Eyes like Louie's. Olimar was entirely selfless. Olimar was gullible, and selfless, and real.

It made Louie want to cry, some nights, despite never really socializing with him.

. . .

Perhaps Louie was also being pulled into the mess.


End file.
